Hermione's Dreadful Mistake
by Godforsaken
Summary: Absurdity written in the style of drama. Hermione's musings as she's imprisoned in Azkaban... I was in seventh grade when I wrote this, so don't yell if it's not my usual style of spastic description and inappropriate comments.


A/N: HeeHeeHee!!! I am wearing my studded collar from Hallowe'en right now, so I am kinda hyper... in this fic, Hermione commits a terrible crime and is sent to Azkaban, and ponders where she went wrong and what made her decide to do the deed. This is very stupid, as the nature of the crime is dumb, and I don't know quite when the Ministry of Magic outlawed putting Parmesean cheese on meatballs, but here's Hermione in jail and here are her thoughts. This is not a D/H fic. And please, please, please review. Reviews make me feel special. Hermione's POV.

Disclaimer: Hermione Granger, the one belonging to JKRowling, belongs to JKRowling. The Ministry of Magic, the Dementors, the Death Eaters, Draco Malfoy, and Azkaban also belong to JKRowling. JKRowling belongs to herself. Parmesean cheese and meatballs belong to the Italians, I think.

Claimer: I own nothing in this fic. I own my studded collar but that's not in the fic. 

HERMIONE'S DREADFUL MISTAKE

by Godforsaken

I stand at my tiny, barred window, staring out at the sliver of sky that is visible from my cell. I once again curse the Ministry, curse that party, and curse the stupid law that the Ministry made. It was supposed to be a nice party, a small Christmas party for me and some family and friends, but Seamus, all-knowing, law-abiding Seamus, ratted on me. 

I had no idea of that law, I did not know that serving meatballs with Parmesean cheese was illegal. Had I known, I would have served them with something else. It certainly isn't a Muggle law; why does the Ministry have to come up with these things? _How_ does the Ministry come up with these things? I never knew how dumb the Ministry was, not in my seven years at Hogwarts, not in my three years of being free after Hogwarts, never in all my years of enjoying eating meatballs with Parmesean cheese, did I know. Percy Weasley, whom I had always gotten along well with (except for our views on house-elves), turned out just like his beloved Mr. Crouch... he sent me to Azkaban without a trial. Just like poor Sirius.

Sirius, on the other hand, had the advantage of being an Animagus. I was not an Animagus. I had registered to learn, but the Ministry had revoked my rights when they sent me here. I have another eight years of this. I have been in here twelve years... it seems so much longer than that. It seems like I have been in here an eternity. I am now thirty-three, and a jailbird. That party seems so long ago...

Memory...

It was all eight of us--me, Harry, Ron, Seamus, Dean, Neville, Parvati, and Lavender. The party started off beautifully, we talked, we drank about eighteen bottles of soda, we listened to music, we danced, we told stories of our years at Hogwarts, were all so happy to be together again.

Then, it was dinnertime. Dinner started out normally, but when Seamus saw the meatballs with Parmesean cheese he kind of freaked out. He informed me, none to tactfully, that I had broken the law and he would be turning me in. When I asked him what the Hades he was raving about, he told me that it was strictly illegal to serve meatballs with Parmesean cheese under the Ministry's laws. 

I had never been more confused in my life. 

He alerted the Ministry immediately, and I was carted off to Azkaban and denied the right to a trial by that rat Percy. 

How did this come about? How did this all happen? What grotesque twist of fate made me choose that dish, of all, at that party, with that guest... it's quite amazing how one unlucky coincidence can ruin your life forever. I have lost all credibility with everyone, in the face of the law, and never will I be trusted again, merely because I served meatballs with Parmesean cheese at that Christmas party, with Seamus there...

Memory...

The dementors were dragging me off, Percy at the head of the small group of people watching me. He did not look at all remorseful, his expression was almost bored. Ron's face stood out among the crowd of people; his expression one of utter shock and mortification. I could read his thoughts as plainly as if he were a book: _How could my brother do this to her?_

I could see Seamus, his expression smug, and I wanted to kill him. Then they would have something to really send me to Azkaban about.

I could see Harry and Neville, wearing identical expressions of horror.

I could see Parvati and Lavender, crying, traumatized.

I could see Dean looking like he wanted to kill Seamus, too.

But worst of all, I saw my parents. They were crying, confused, screaming and swearing at Percy through their tears. Crying, crying because they had lost their second daughter. My younger sister, Daria, had died after only two weeks of life. And now, I was being carted off to jail.

To Azkaban.

A thought had then registered in my numb brain: I would have to endure being with Malfoy again. With Voldemort loose, both his parents had died, and the brat freaked out and was arrested as a psychopath. I had always known Draco Malfoy would end up in jail, but I never thought I would. I also always knew that Malfoy was a psychopath, but then so did the rest of the House. 

Memory...

The gaurd at Azkaban told me that all the cells had at least one person in them, as Death Eaters were being arrested daily, so I would have to share a cell with somebody. I frowned, I did not want a roommate. I wanted privacy, even if I was in jail. But the dementors were stronger than I was; they dragged me off down the hallway. They opened the door of a cell, and roughly shoved me into it. I lost my balance and fell on top of someone who promptly shoved me back off. I sat up, glaring at-- Malfoy. 

There was no mistaking him. He was Draco Malfoy, he always had been, and he always will be. He hadn't aged much since the last time I saw him, when we were eighteen. He was noticeably dirtier, and his silver-blond hair was past his shoulders and not very clean looking. Then again, I remembered how Sirius had looked after twelve years in Azkaban-- Malfoy didn't look that bad by comparison.

Apparently, Malfoy recognized me, too. He slapped me full across the face, and the old hatred for him came back in full force. I slapped him back. Then he started cracking up, laughing like a maniac, the sound echoing around the quiet prison. I stared at him, confused. Then he leaned over and hugged me, still laughing crazily. After a while, he calmed down and leaned against the wall, frowning deeply. Then, to all appearences, he went to sleep. I got up and went over to the window, staring out at the starry sky.

And that is how we stay most of the time, him leaning against the wall, thinking or sleeping, and I looking out of the tiny barred window.

End the memories...

I still hate him. But not as much as I did. Now my arch-enemy is Percy, the Ministry, Seamus, and whatever idiot decided to put the dementors in charge of this place. 

Hate, hate, hate, hate being here. I hate living here. I hate living with Draco, living with that psychopath and no escape in sight for eight more years. On the other hand, I feel sorry for Draco. He got thirty years: He was in here seven years before me, he will be out in eleven more years. Three years after I get out. 

It almost makes me want to stay with him, as there is no life for me out there, despite me longing to be free. As he has become dependent on me merely as another human presence to ease the loneliness, as someone he can talk to if he ever actually felt like it. Which he never does, but the poor boy is crazy; he's clinically insane. He really needs to go to St. Mungo's, not to jail. It's really amazing how much you can care about someone you absolutely hate merely because it's the only other human being you have seen for twelve years.

I have been standing here, at this dratted window, for hours now, and I am tired. The sky is utterly black, and there is noise coming from the other inmates, the moans and the occaisonal scream that comes from their nightmares. My exhaustion overtakes me, I sit down, leanign against the wall, and try to fall asleep. The last thing I feel before I drift off to sleep is Draco's hand on my arm, reminding me of how much worse off he is than I.

Curse the meatballs. Curse the Ministry. Curse Seamus. Curse Percy. Curse the law. Curse the party.

Curse my life, my blighted, destroyed, now-worthless life.


End file.
